


Picking Up The Pieces

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Secrets, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Helen's disappearance, Nick is asked to take on a former PhD student of hers, one Stephen Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking Up The Pieces

Nick was surprised that he’d been given as long as two months before being called into the dean’s office for what the dean probably thought was a sympathetic talking-to.  
  
“I realise this is a difficult time for you, Cutter, but you can understand my position, I’m sure,” the man said, leaning back in his comfortable leather chair in his immaculate office and surveying Nick condescendingly over the top of his glasses. “We’ve given you a certain amount of leeway due to the fact that your wife disappeared towards the end of the academic year, and most of the students went home over the summer holidays, but with October fast approaching I’m going to have to insist that you make some decisions now.”  
  
“What kind of decisions are you talking about?” Nick asked, making a supreme effort not to raise his voice.  
  
“Well, for a start, will you actually be available to teach the undergraduates come the start of the new academic year? I’ll understand if you wish to take a sabbatical, or leave on emotional grounds, but I need to know one way or the other so we can start organising replacement lecturers or alter the module schedule if necessary.”  
  
Nick thought back over the past two months, since Helen had just upped and vanished one day. He thought about his trips to the Forest of Dean, obsessively searching every square inch of the area but not finding a single shred of evidence that Helen had ever been there. He thought about his continuous calls to the police, demanding updates and news on the status of the case, and the growing impatience of the detectives as he badgered them past the point where they had any sympathy left.  
  
He thought about the insidious little voice in his head – that he was trying, and failing, to ignore – that was pointing out that no one was going to find Helen. That, maybe, wherever she was, she didn’t want to be found (Nick still wasn’t willing to agree with the police that she was dead, or murdered – it was one of the issues that had led to the authorities’ decline in sympathy for him).  
  
Then he thought about what he’d do if he did admit to himself that Helen simply wasn’t coming back. Would he continue to look anyway? He’d need time for that. Would he drive himself crazy always wondering if a breakthrough, or a piece of evidence, was just around the corner? Would his conviction be enough to sustain him if it was all he had?  
  
“I don’t need any leave,” he told the dean abruptly. “I’ll be available to teach when the students come back.”  
  
The dean looked relieved, although also a little apprehensive. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. It’s probably best that you have something to keep you busy, anyway.”  
  
That was close enough to Nick’s own thoughts that he pulled a wry face, but he stopped short of outright agreeing with the other man. He’d made it a point never to agree with the dean if he could possibly avoid it.  
  
“There is one other matter, though…” the dean was saying now. “It’s not just the undergraduates that are the problem, but the postgraduates too. And specifically, those doing a PhD.”  
  
“I’m sure they’ve managed to cope without my presence while I’ve been AWOL,” Nick said. “Don’t tell them I said this, but they’re actually a pretty intelligent bunch.”  
  
“Ah, yes, right. Unfortunately, it’s not your students that are the issue, but your wife’s,” the dean replied awkwardly. “Dr. Cutter was tutoring four PhD students, and while we’ve managed to find alternate tutors for three of them, the fourth is proving to be a bit of a problem.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Well, to put it bluntly, the best person to be their replacement tutor is you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I don’t want to pile any more work on you than is absolutely necessary, but…”  
  
“I’ll take them,” Nick said quickly. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s not fair that they should suffer just because my wife decided to pull a disappearing act.”  
  
He was aware that he sounded bitter, and he was also aware of the faintly pitying look on the dean’s face. Poor Cutter, he honestly thinks his wife’s still alive somewhere… But Nick was used to seeing that expression by now, so he ignored it.  
  
“Who’s the student?” he asked instead.  
  
The dean consulted some papers on his desk in front of him. “A Stephen Hart. He’s in his second year.”  
  
So not a complete newbie then. That was good. Students in their first year of PhD tended to get rather stressed, trying to pack too much in and needing a fair amount of guidance. Hopefully this Stephen Hart had settled down into a good working routine by now, and wouldn’t need too much hand-holding.  
  
“Can I leave it to you to contact him and set up a meeting?” the dean continued. “I’m sure you’d like to find out a bit more about Mr. Hart’s research topic, and the two of you could get to know each other a bit. In fact, perhaps you’ve already met?”  
  
Nick thought for a moment. Helen mentioned her students every now and again, but he couldn’t particularly remember her singling this Stephen Hart out for special mention. And he didn’t think he’d ever run across the man in Helen’s office or anything like that.  
  
“I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “It’s possible, but I do tend to get a bit wrapped up in my work at times. We may have met, or we may not.”  
  
“Well, no matter,” the dean said briskly, his expression betraying that he, and the rest of the department, knew all too well how wrapped up in his work Nick could become. Not that Helen had ever been much better, Nick reflected to himself. “I’ll leave you to sort things out then, and just make sure my secretary records the change of tutor and deals with any other necessary paperwork.”  
  
“All right.” Nick stood. “I take it that’s everything.”  
  
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” the dean replied. “Thank you for your cooperation, Cutter, and let me say again how sorry I am for your loss.”  
  
But Nick waved away the empty condolences and left the office quickly. It looked like he had a lot of work to do, to get his courses ready for the returning students. And at some point he had to find the time to email Stephen Hart…  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Looking up from his computer screen briefly, Nick glanced across at the student sitting opposite him for a moment, before just as quickly looking away again. Stephen Hart was still wearing the pleasant yet shuttered expression that had been on his face ever since he’d entered Nick’s office, and they’d shook hands. He seemed friendly and intelligent, and at the same time awkward and a bit stilted. Nick didn’t blame him – it couldn’t be easy switching tutors halfway through your PhD, and that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that your previous tutor had disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and her grieving husband was the replacement.  
  
“Well, you seem to be getting on all right,” Nick said, scanning quickly through the last of the notes Stephen had sent him about his research. “There are maybe one or two things we’ll need to discuss, but I’ll have a clearer idea about that when I’ve found the time to have a look at the drafts you’ve given me.”  
  
“No rush,” replied Stephen politely. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”  
  
It was obvious he regretted the words the second he’d uttered them, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Sorry, I…”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” Nick shook his head a little. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t know what happened.”  
  
Stephen didn’t say anything else, and after a few seconds, Nick cleared his throat roughly, and turned his attention back to his computer again. “I might be able to organise some teaching for you next term, if you’re interested?” he said, changing the subject. “Once I’ve actually got all my courses and timetabling sorted out, of course.” He pulled a face. “I don’t think the ladies in the undergraduate office like me very much at the moment.”  
  
“I’d be very interested in doing some teaching,” Stephen said, nodding in knowing sympathy at how strict university administrators could be with poor academics. “It’s all useful experience.”  
  
Nick tried a smile. “You don’t know what you’ve just let yourself in for,” he told Stephen. “All my previous students will tell you that it’s a miracle if I turn up to teach my seminars. You’ll probably end up running all of them, just to save me the hassle.”  
  
Stephen smiled back, but the expression was still a shade too polite, and Nick decided to forgo the jokes for now. He wasn’t feeling in a particularly joking mood anyway.  
  
“Well, I’ll definitely let you know if I can sort something for you,” he continued. “And give me a couple of weeks to look over the rest of your work, and then we can set up another meeting and talk about things in more depth.” He looked at Stephen. “I’m sorry you’ve ended up in this position.”  
  
“Not your fault,” Stephen replied. “I’m just happy to have a new tutor who actually knows what they’re talking about and will bother to read my research. I think a couple of the others had to switch to Dr. Oldman.”  
  
“Oh dear.” It was common knowledge in the evolutionary zoology department that Dr. Oldman was all but past it, and pretty much incapable of doing anything but reminiscing about past academic glories. Why he hadn’t retired years ago was a mystery to everyone. And the even bigger mystery was why the dean allowed him to stay on anyway.  
  
Nick made a mental note to make himself available in case any of Dr. Oldman’s hapless new students needed to talk to someone who might actually be of some help. He might get lost in his work sometimes, but he wasn’t quite at Oldman’s level of obliviousness yet.  
  
“Anyway, like I said, leave things with me, and hopefully we’ll talk again in a few weeks,” Nick said. “Unless you’ve got any questions you’d like to ask me now?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so,” Stephen said. He stood, and stuck out his hand to shake Nick’s again. “Thanks for taking me on at such sort notice.”  
  
“Not a problem,” Nick replied. “I’m always happy to help students who actually do their work, and are passionate about their subject. And you seem to be one of those.”  
  
Stephen ducked his head a little, showing a brief flash of deeper emotion. “Thank you,” he said again. Then he turned towards the door. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, then?”  
  
“In a few weeks,” Nick confirmed, and then watched thoughtfully as Stephen headed off up the stairs and out of the office door.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Over the next two or three weeks, Nick saw Stephen around the campus on several occasions, sometimes only from a distance, sometimes close enough to give him a smile and a nod, which Stephen generally returned, although there were a couple of instances when Stephen, apparently deep in thought, didn’t seem to notice his new tutor passing by.  
  
The campus was pretty empty at this time of year, with few postgraduates and fewer academics sticking around during the summer months. Only the university’s administrative staff still seemed to be working hard, preparing for the influx of new and returning students at the beginning of October.  
  
Nick himself had gained firsthand experience of just how hard they were working – he’d been grateful for the amount of work he’d had in getting himself ready for the new academic year as a way to take his mind off things, but still, on the couple of occasions he’d tried playing the ‘grieving husband’ card he’d found out just how zealous secretaries and administrators could be in their worship at the altar of paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork.  
  
Still, at least Nick had an excuse for hanging around the campus during the summer. He couldn’t quite imagine what might be keeping Stephen around, though. Surely the young man had holidays to go on, or friends to hang out with, or family to visit? Nick wondered if Stephen had remained at the university in order to get ahead with his work or use the library, but then he realised that Stephen would probably put his work on hiatus until Nick had got himself up to speed on it.  
  
That thought made him feel guilty, and Nick decided that it was about time he found a free afternoon to look through Stephen’s research properly. It had already been longer than the couple of weeks he’d promised Stephen it would take.  
  
So he cleared his schedule for an afternoon, took the phone off the hook, and, ignoring the increasingly irate emails from Gladys in the Undergraduate Office, immersed himself in Stephen’s work.  
  
As he’d already suspected from reading the brief outline notes Stephen had given him, and speaking to man himself, Stephen’s research was interesting and thorough, and he was obviously more than capable of working unsupervised and not making a complete hash of it.  
  
There were one or two ideas, however, that showed Helen’s influence, and Nick frowned to himself as he remembered the arguments they’d had before she’d disappeared. It was one thing to develop and believe your own outlandish theories, but to try and push them on to a student when you had no evidence or proof for them just wasn’t fair. Nick made a mental note to speak to Stephen about the issue.  
  
One advantage to Stephen’s continuing presence on campus was, of course, that when Nick had finished looking through his work, it was easy enough to arrange a second meeting with the student, at a time that suited them both, instead of having to wait until Stephen came back from his holidays, and then squeeze him in during the chaotic whirlwind that September generally became.  
  
Nick emerged from his office’s little kitchenette, carrying two mugs of coffee, to find Stephen reading a document that he’d obviously picked up from Nick’s desk.  
  
“Here you go,” Nick said, setting a mug down in front of Stephen.  
  
Stephen startled slightly, and looked up at Nick with a faintly guilty expression as he dropped the paper back on the desk. “Thanks. And, er, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”  
  
“Actually, I have absolutely no idea what you were looking at,” Nick confessed. He glanced around pointedly at the myriad piles of paper surrounding them. “I’m not sure what most of this stuff is, truth be told. I’ve been letting things slide a bit as I’ve tried to get other things organised.”  
  
“Understandable,” Stephen nodded, and then gestured at the paper he’d been reading. “It was a dissertation proposal from one of your undergrads, by the looks of it,” he explained.  
  
“Oh god.” Nick resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. “Those’ll need sorting before the new term starts too. The students will need to know if they can start their research on their chosen subjects.” He cast around, looking for notepad on which to start a ‘To Do’ list, although he knew that he’d probably only lose the list before he had a chance to do anything about any of things on it.  
  
Stephen took a sip of his coffee. “I could help you, if you like,” he offered off-handedly.  
  
“What? No I couldn’t ask you do to that…” But Nick couldn’t deny the little flare of hope he felt. He hadn’t got a hope in hell of getting everything done before October without some help.  
  
“It’s no trouble,” Stephen replied. He picked up the paper again. “This proposal at least is about one of my areas of interest. And it sounds like the student in question is pretty interested in it too.”  
  
“But I wouldn’t be able to pay you for your time or anything,” Nick said awkwardly. “I won’t be able to get any official teaching or assistance authorised until September at the earliest.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter. Like I said before, it’s all good experience. The real issue is whether you’ll trust me to make the right decisions about the proposals being viable or not.”  
  
“If I don’t have to read them all, you can make any decision you like about them,” Nick told him, giving in to the inevitable. He did need the help, after all, and Stephen could well turn out to be a godsend.  
  
Stephen grinned, suddenly and brightly. It was an expression Nick hadn’t seen on his face before, and he couldn’t help grinning back, all of a sudden feeling more cheerful than he had done in months.  
  
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You may just have saved my bacon. I think Gladys and her cronies would be baying for my blood soon, otherwise.”  
  
“Oh, if they manage to hunt you down, you’re on your own, you know that, right?” Stephen told him seriously. Then he grinned again, and Nick laughed.  
  
“Well, there’s loyalty for you,” he exclaimed.  
  
But as he reached over to grab another proposal off the pile, he didn’t notice the suddenly stricken look on Stephen’s face.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
It seemed like no time at all before Nick’s life settled back into a routine – one that turned out to feature Stephen Hart quite heavily. The dissertation proposals took a couple of days to get through, and then Stephen offered to sort out a pile of exam papers that were perched rather precariously on top of the filing cabinet they should have been filed inside. It all snowballed rather after that, and before he knew it, Nick had an unofficial, unpaid assistant.  
  
He constantly felt guilty about the unpaid part of the deal, and more than once tried to offer Stephen a few quid, or failing that, a couple of drinks down the local pub. But Stephen always waved him away, telling him that the beginning of term was soon enough to get a pay cheque sorted out.  
  
The time they spent together (Stephen usually managed to turn up at least two or three days a week, although Nick did make sure he was dedicating enough time to his own work) was friendly, but quiet. Neither of them were the chattiest of men, but the silence was companionable, rather than awkward. And Nick was frankly slightly in awe of Stephen’s apparent ability to psychically sense exactly when Nick needed a refill of coffee, or another cup of tea.  
  
By the end of the third week of September, Nick couldn’t remember what his life had been like before Stephen stepped into it, and decided that the student must have been some kind of miracle sent to him by the God of University Administration. Stephen’s help had got Gladys off Nick’s back, and he was starting to think that he might actually be ready for when the rest of the students returned, in a little over a week’s time.  
  
One thing he still hadn’t managed, however, was to really find out anything about Stephen himself. The young man had finally caved to Nick’s repeated offers of a drink, and agreed to accompany him to the local pub for a pint, in order to celebrate the fact that all Nick’s classes were finally properly timetabled, thereby signifying the end of a battle with the timetabling office that had lasted the better part of a month.  
  
But just because Nick had finally managed to get some alcohol down his neck, didn’t mean that Stephen was any chattier. Sure, he was more than happy to talk about his research and his interest in zoology and the environment, but Nick knew next to nothing about Stephen’s personal life, beyond the fact that he was twenty-four, and came from somewhere in the home counties. And that was information he could have found out from Stephen’s student record.  
  
However, when it came to anything else, such as Stephen’s likes, dislikes, hobbies, potential girlfriends, etcetera, the man was a closed book. Nick didn’t even know where he was currently living. Although he assumed Stephen must have a flat somewhere – he certainly didn’t look like he was sleeping in a cardboard box out on the streets.  
  
Turned out that one drink meant one drink too. Stephen downed his pint, had a bit of a sympathetic moan about Joanna the Timetabling Nazi, and then, almost before Nick knew it, he was standing up and leaving with a quick “See you on Monday.”  
  
There didn’t seem to be much point in staying in the pub after that, so Nick quickly finished his own pint and then headed home, switching to scotch once he’d shrugged off his coat and toed off his shoes.  
  
He flopped on to the sofa, licked the few drops of scotch that had sloshed over the rim of the glass off his thumb, and let his eyes be drawn inevitably to the photographs standing on the mantelpiece.  
  
They all showed Helen, either alone or with Nick, or in one instance with some students on a dig in North America. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d examined them, trying to discern some hint of the reason why Helen might have disappeared, since he no longer had the real thing to ask face-to-face.  
  
But lately he’d been looking at them less. He knew they couldn’t tell him anything, just like the police couldn’t tell him anything. He’d been phoning them less too, and as he took a sip of his drink, Nick realised suddenly and uncomfortably that he’d actually been thinking about Helen less, full stop.  
  
His first reaction was guilt. His wife had been missing for less than four months and he was already starting not to care? How cold-hearted was that?  
  
Then he tried to justify it to himself with the excuse of having been busy. It was the truth, after all. Even with Stephen’s help he’d been flat out since he’d agreed with the dean that he wouldn’t take any time off from teaching. And hadn’t that been the reason to continue teaching, after all? To keep himself busy so he wouldn’t think too much?  
  
Well, it looked like it had worked. Still, Nick knew that wasn’t really the reason. He had to admit it to himself. Both he and Helen had known their marriage was in trouble long before she’d disappeared. In fact, in the first days after she’d gone, Nick had wondered if that was the reason for her going. But then he’d dismissed the idea – Helen had never run away from anything in her life. She was a fighter – something he knew all too well.  
  
But the idea that she’d left deliberately, for whatever reason, was one that Nick couldn’t shake, no matter how much it pained him to entertain it. And if her reason hadn’t been running away, then he had to face up to possibility that she’d found something more interesting than her marriage. Than her work. Than her life.  
  
Something that she hadn’t seen fit to tell her husband about. Or share with him.  
  
But Nick found that he wasn’t really surprised by that. And he was slowly coming to realise that, although he was still worried, and although he still wanted to find Helen, and find out where she’d been, maybe he didn’t actually miss her all that much…  
  
Sighing, Nick took another mouthful of scotch and closed his eyes against the smiling images of Helen on the mantelpiece. Ignoring his guilt, he let his mind drift away from the subject of Helen, and instead found himself thinking about Stephen.  
  
For a moment he considered the idea that it was Stephen who was responsible for distracting him from what had happened to Helen, but then he shook his head at himself incredulously and sent a mental apology towards his student, wherever he was.  
  
None of this was Stephen’s fault. In fact, Nick knew damn well he would have probably gone completely crazy without the younger man to keep him company and help him out these past couple of months. But it wasn’t like Stephen had been deliberately trying to make Nick forget about Helen. They’d barely even spoken about her, outside of the necessary discussion relating to Stephen’s work when he’d still been her student.  
  
No, Stephen was merely good, if quiet, company, and a whiz at paperwork to boot. And if he’d somehow managed to charm all the women in the Undergraduate Office, not to mention the dean’s secretary, Margot, well, so much the better. It had certainly made things run a lot smoother.  
  
Nick wasn’t oblivious. Neither was he blind. Despite being a straight man who had been married for well over a decade, he could appreciate Stephen’s more ‘aesthetic’ qualities. And he could also see how some people might find Stephen’s quiet, almost reticent, manner attractive. Women liked the strong, silent type, or so he’d been told.  
  
Funny thing was, it seemed Nick was starting to develop a liking for that type too.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
“I have good news,” said Nick, as soon as Stephen entered the office on Friday morning.  
  
“Oh yes?” Stephen raised an enquiring eyebrow as he scooped Nick’s already empty coffee mug off the desk and carried it into the kitchenette to make a fresh brew. His voice floated back to Nick. “Tell me more.”  
  
“I finally managed to convince the recruitment and pay offices – not to mention the dean – to authorise a proper position for you. As of Monday, you’ll be a fully paid up teaching assistant in the Central Metropolitan University’s Department of Zoology. That is, if you still want the job.”  
  
Stephen stuck his head round the doorframe. He was grinning – the bright, happy smile that Nick had rarely seen, and which was usually reserved for their greatest triumphs over one or other of the university’s administrative departments. “Of course I do!” he exclaimed. “Try and keep me away.”  
  
Nick smiled back. “I’m glad,” he replied. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  
  
“Particularly as the students will be reappearing en masse on Monday,” Stephen teased. “They’d eat you alive without me to protect you.”  
  
“My hero,” Nick fake-simpered, prompting a laugh from Stephen. He suddenly felt ridiculously light-hearted, and he realised that he was more than ‘glad’ that Stephen would be taking up the job offer. “But seriously, Stephen, you’ve been an absolute godsend to me these past couple of months. Imagine if I hadn’t had you assigned as my student.”  
  
“Well, that would mean that your wife was still around, wouldn’t it?” Stephen pointed out quietly, his grin suddenly gone. “I only got assigned to you because she’s gone.”  
  
Nick was shocked. They’d barely spoken about Helen, and now here Stephen was, bringing up the topic bluntly and without warning.  
  
But Stephen was now looking contrite – and guilty? “God, I’m sorry, Cutter. I don’t know where that came from. It’s not my place to comment on…any of that. I didn’t mean to…”  
  
Pulling himself together, Nick shook his head at Stephen quickly, warding off the younger man’s apologies. “It’s fine,” he said. “And besides, it’s not like you’re wrong. If Helen was still here, you wouldn’t be.”  
  
“And I know at the end of the day you’d much rather it was her…”  
  
Nick hesitated. Was that the case? He’d been doing a lot of thinking over the past week, and he really wasn’t sure any more.  
  
It was ridiculous, of course. He should still be grieving for Helen – should still be looking for her – and indeed, he knew that there was a part of him that would never be able to let go until he’d found out what had happened to her.  
  
But right now, Helen wasn’t here and Stephen was. And Nick found that that was the only thing that really mattered.  
  
“Let’s not talk about Helen,” Nick said abruptly. “I think we should celebrate your new job. Come on, I’m going to buy you lunch and a pint. And this time I’m not going to take no for an answer.”  
  
Stephen still looked faintly apologetic about his gaffe, but he nodded anyway. “All right. You’ve twisted my arm. Just this once.” He paused, and then smiled again, albeit with slightly less brilliance this time. “Thanks, Cutter.”  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
December rolled around rather more quickly than Nick had been expecting, in a whirlwind of lectures, seminars, marking, and failures to avoid the students at all costs. Stephen had continued to be worth his weight in gold, taking a lot of Nick’s workload off his shoulders, although Nick couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed or amused that the female contingent of his classes spent more time staring at Stephen than they did at Nick’s fossil slides.  
  
And now it was almost Christmas, and Nick was left wondering where the time had gone. His life certainly wasn’t what he would have expected it to be six months ago. He felt like he’d blinked and missed half a year.  
  
“Cutter? Cutter?”  
  
Nick blinked for real, and turned to where Stephen was standing expectantly on the other side of the desk. “Yes?”  
  
“Drink? Pub? Celebrating the fact that today was your last seminar and all the students leave tomorrow for the holidays? Any of this ringing a bell?”  
  
And that was another thing that had changed over the past few months – Stephen seemed to have loosened up a bit. He was still reserved, and even a little shy, around most people, but with Nick he seemed to have relaxed. Nick had even cautiously started to think of them as friends, the more so when he’d discovered a few days previously that Stephen didn’t really have any plans for Christmas – his parents had passed away three years earlier, he had no siblings, and as Nick himself could attest, few friends. And none of those were close enough to warrant an invitation to Christmas dinner.  
  
So Nick had taken it upon himself to issue that invitation. It wasn’t entirely selfless – despite everything, he knew that the first Christmas since Helen had disappeared was bound to be a hard one, and he was looking for any kind of distraction. Stephen fit the bill nicely, and if Nick was genuinely looking forward to having the young man round for Christmas, then so much the better.  
  
Stephen had been a little surprised at first, but it had taken less persuasion than Nick had been expecting before he’d agreed to Nick’s plan of a Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day slobbed out in front of the TV with too much sherry and a probably burnt turkey.  
  
“It won’t be the perfect Christmas,” Nick had warned. “I’m not even sure I have a Christmas tree.”  
  
But Stephen had just laughed. “Doesn’t matter,” he’d replied. “It’s the company that counts.”  
  
Nick had been strangely pleased by that.  
  
But all that was in a week or two’s time, and right now Stephen was staring at him with faintly amused exasperation, clearly under the impression that Nick had forgotten their celebratory drink.  
  
Nick pulled himself together. “Of course,” he said. “No more students – not likely to forget that, am I? Let me just grab my coat, and we’ll go.”  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
One hour, and two pints, later, and Nick was enjoying a good moan about the amount of effort his students had been putting in over the past term.  
  
“I really don’t know what they think university is for,” he complained. “But it obviously isn’t work.”  
  
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Of course not, Cutter,” he said. “It’s for partying and getting drunk, and generally slacking off as much as possible before having to enter the real world, get a job, and become boring.”  
  
“Well, none of my lot are getting any kind of job unless they buck up their ideas,” Nick replied. He gave a theatrical shudder. “I dread to think what the first draft dissertations are going to be like when they hand them in at the beginning of January.”  
  
“Some of the proposals were quite good,” said Stephen, apparently ever the optimist.  
  
“That doesn’t mean anything if the little so-and-sos don’t bother to do the subsequent research and work,” Nick pointed out.  
  
“Those proposals were the very first thing we worked on together, do you remember?” Stephen continued, suddenly going off on a slight tangent. “I can’t believe that was only a few months ago. It feels like I’ve been working with you for a lot longer.”  
  
“That’s because you had to deal with my disaster of a filing system,” Nick joked. “Maybe you should have picked a different academic to hook up with – your life would have been a lot simpler.”  
  
A strange look crossed Stephen’s face at Nick’s words – a worried half-grimace that had Nick frowning a little in response.  
  
“Stephen? Something wrong?”  
  
“What? Oh…no. It’s nothing.” Stephen’s expression cleared, and he flashing a Nick a quick, if slightly thin, smile. “Seriously though, Cutter, I’ve enjoyed working with you these past few months. It’s not quite the turn I expected my life to take, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”  
  
Stephen sounded so sincere that Nick unaccountably felt himself blush a little. Maybe it had something to do with the way Stephen was looking at him – directly and steadily, with maybe a little hint of…  
  
Nick cleared his throat noisily. “Yes, well, the feeling’s mutual, I can assure you. I think you’ve pretty much saved my life – and my sanity – since we met.”  
  
Now Stephen was the one looking embarrassed, and Nick felt much more comfortable now he’d evened the score a bit. “Do you fancy another one?” he asked. “We are supposed to be celebrating, after all.”  
  
“Definitely,” Stephen agreed. “My round though, I think?” He tossed his wallet across the table to Nick. “Take some cash out of there. I need to visit the little boys’ room.”  
  
He slid out of his seat and started making his way across the pub towards the opposite corner where the bathrooms were. Nick watched him for a moment, and then looked down at the wallet in his hands. For a moment he considered paying for the round himself – he knew Stephen wasn’t paid a lot to be his teaching assistant, and most of his pay cheque went on rent and bills.  
  
But he also knew that Stephen would probably check in his wallet when he got back to make sure Nick had done as he asked. And he probably wouldn’t appreciate what he would perceive as charity.  
  
Sighing, but smiling a little at the same time, Nick flipped open Stephen’s wallet and slid his fingers inside, searching for enough money to buy a couple of pints.  
  
But by the time Stephen returned from the bathroom, the drinks had conspicuously failed to materialise, and Stephen’s face showed confusion at their absence.  
  
“Cutter? What’s the matter? Have they run out of Carling or something? Because anything else would have been fine.”  
  
Nick looked up at Stephen, barely registering his words as his mind tried to make sense of what he’d found.  
  
“Cutter? Cutter?” Stephen was looking even more confused. “What is it?”  
  
“Why,” asked Nick, quietly and slowly, “do you have a picture of my wife in your wallet?”  
  
There was a moment of absolute silence, the murmurs and laughter of the pub’s other patrons notwithstanding. Stephen now looked shocked, guilty, and pleading all at once, his mouth half open as if he was about to say something, but couldn’t quite decide what.  
  
“Why?” asked Nick again, still keeping his voice low, not wanting to make a scene, but needing to know the answer right now.  
  
“Cutter, I…I forgot it was even in there,” Stephen offered, lamely.  
  
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why is it in here in the first place?”  
  
“I…admired her. I’d like to think we were…friends,” Stephen replied haltingly.  
  
“I’m your friend,” Nick pointed out, not entirely sure that was actually still the case. “I don’t see a picture of me in here.”  
  
“I…I don’t…”  
  
“Were you sleeping with her?” Nick mind balked at the idea, but it was the only logical – and awful – conclusion.  
  
“Cutter, please…”  
  
“Were you having an affair with my wife?” Nick hissed, this time drawing a couple of concerned looks from neighbouring tables.  
  
For a moment Stephen looked like he was going to deny it, despite all evidence to the contrary, and then he nodded miserably. “Yes, we slept together.”  
  
“That’s all I needed to know,” said Nick calmly.  
  
He stood up, tossed the Stephen’s wallet on to the tabletop, and walked out of the pub.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
The final week before Christmas passed slowly for Nick. He pulled his Christmas decorations down from the attic, but the Christmas tree (that apparently he did own, after all) stayed in the box, and the tinsel remained in a rather forlorn-looking pile in the corner of his living room.  
  
He tried to get a head start on marking his students’ assignments, knowing from previous experience that he’d regret it if he left it all until the New Year. But he couldn’t keep his attention on the words, and despite his prior moanings about the students’ level on intelligence, he was fairly sure that their essays should make more sense than he was currently able to extract from them. At least, he hoped so.  
  
He knew he should think about going to the supermarket and buying in some supplies. There probably weren’t that many turkeys left by now, and he didn’t have any mince pies, or mulled wine, or even a Christmas pudding.  
  
But he couldn’t quite see the point. It would have been different if he’d been having company for Christmas. Food would have been more necessary, decorations would have been festive, and he would have had more impetus (and possibly even some help) to do the marking.  
  
But as far as Nick was concerned, that ship had sailed. And sunk.  
  
So when the doorbell rang late on Christmas Eve, he assumed it was carollers, tried to rid himself of the ‘Bah Humbug’ expression he knew he’d been wearing for the past week, and dug out a couple of quid to drop in their charity box.  
  
It wasn’t until he was opening the door that it occurred to him that he couldn’t hear a chorus of voices murdering ‘Away in a Manger’ or ‘O, Little Town of Bethlehem’, but by then it was too late.  
  
Stephen was standing on the doorstep, looking equal parts awkward and determined. With a hefty dash of guilty thrown in for good measure.  
  
“Look, I know the invitation is probably well and truly retracted,” Stephen began, before Nick could say a word, “but I thought I’d take my chances and come and see you.” His shoulders lifted in a little half-shrug. “After all, it is the season of goodwill to all men…”  
  
Several options ran through Nick’s mind in quick succession. He could slam the door in Stephen’s face. He could shout at Stephen and then shut the door in his face. He could even punch Stephen in the face before doing the door thing.  
  
Or…he could let Stephen in and they could talk.  
  
Nick stood back, a silent invitation that Stephen didn’t seem to know what to do with for a moment, and then the younger man shuffled in through the door, allowing Nick to close it behind him.  
  
The silence lasted until they reached the living room, Stephen hovering uncomfortably until Nick offered him a seat with a single curt gesture. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Stephen spoke, accompanying his words with a look that was half uncomfortable, half hopeful.  
  
“I wouldn’t call it an affair,” he said quietly. “At least, I’m sure Helen didn’t see it that way. I think I was just a…a distraction.”  
  
“A distraction from what?” Nick enquired. “From her work? Impossible – she was obsessed by her theories and ideas. So that means you must have been a distraction from me.” He gave Stephen a hard look. “Which doesn’t make me feel any better about the whole thing, I can tell you.”  
  
Stephen grimaced. “Sorry. I just…well I suppose I just wanted to reassure you that she wasn’t in love with me or anything. She still loved you, I think.” A noise that might have been a bitter laugh escaped him. “Not that I wanted to acknowledge that at the time. She was obsessed by her work, but I was obsessed by her. I was infatuated, and I didn’t want to admit what was really going on. I was a bit of a fling, nothing more.”  
  
“How long did it go on for?” Nick asked. ‘Fling’ indicated something brief, but he had to know exactly how much of a dupe he’d been.  
  
“Not very long at all,” Stephen replied. “Like you said, her work was her main passion – eventually that eclipsed everything else.”  
  
Like our marriage, Nick thought, but he didn’t say the words out loud as he could see that Stephen had already realised what he’d said.  
  
“I am sorry, Cutter,” he offered. “I could say I was young and stupid, but it was all only a few months ago, so…” He shrugged helplessly.  
  
“Was it still going on when she disappeared?”  
  
“No, it was over by then. Although I was still clinging on to the hope that she might take me back. I was as upset by her disappearance as…I was upset,” Stephen finished lamely.  
  
“You didn’t seem very upset when we met,” Nick pointed out.  
  
“Well, I’d had a couple of months to realise what an idiot I’d been by that point. I was still shocked that she’d gone – still am, I suppose – but I realised that my infatuation had been just that – an infatuation. I realised I didn’t actually miss her all that much.”  
  
“You’re not the only one,” Nick muttered, before he could stop himself.  
  
“What?” Stephen looked faintly surprised, but when Nick seemed disinclined to repeat himself, he continued, “And then I met you, and realised that not all Cutters were that…”  
  
“That what?” said Nick.  
  
“Well…self-centred,” Stephen replied hesitantly, obviously still wary of Nick’s reaction to speaking ill of his wife. “You seemed to genuinely want to help me with my work, and even be my friend. Which of course means I’ve been feeling even more guilty about the whole thing for the past few months.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
A wry expression crossed Stephen’s face. “I suppose I deserve that. But you do believe that I’m sorry, don’t you? And that I wish it had never, never happened?”  
  
Nick hesitated for a moment, and then sighed. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I do believe that, at least.”  
  
Looking relieved, Stephen risked a smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“I feel like I should hate you,” Nick confessed. “I feel like I should be throwing you out on your ear and never speaking to you again. But despite everything, I can’t. At the end of the day, Helen’s not here, and you are. She left me without a word, and you’ve been there for me, even burdened with guilt.” He gave Stephen a sudden, sharp look. “You’re not here because of the guilt, are you? Helping me with my paperwork wasn’t just some way to ease your conscience?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Stephen replied vehemently. “Like I said, I was surprised to find a possible friend in you, but that’s why I stayed, Cutter. Because you’re my friend.” He looked away for a moment. “Even if I didn’t treat you like one should a friend. Even if I made the biggest mistake of my life in choosing Helen.”  
  
Something in Stephen’s choice of words caught Nick’s attention. “‘Choosing’ Helen?” he questioned. “Choosing her over what?”  
  
Stephen looked trapped for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped. “Over you, of course,” he murmured. “Boy, did I ever choose the wrong Cutter.”  
  
“You mean…?” Nick was surprised, but underneath it he was aware that he wasn’t quite as surprised as he probably ought to be.  
  
“We’re friends, Cutter – we are still friends, aren’t we? – let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”  
  
Nick looked at him thoughtfully. He could feel certain things clicking into place in his head. Certain aspects of his rapidly developed friendship with Stephen were suddenly taking on whole new meanings, and he was finding that he wasn’t really all that freaked out by them.  
  
He took a deep breath. “Tell you what,” he said, glancing quickly at the clock on the wall, and then looking back to Stephen. “There’s still a couple of hours of Christmas Eve left, so why don’t I break out the good scotch and we’ll have a drink to celebrate the festive season. And then we can see where things go from there, hmmm?”  
  
Stephen’s eyes widened fractionally, the hope in them more than evident. He nodded. “Okay. That sounds…good.”  
  
Nick nodded back, and stood up. He knew that some people would tell him he was moving on too quickly, that he was making a mistake. And maybe he was, and maybe some people would judge him. But as he handed Stephen a glass of scotch, and received a brilliant smile in return, Nick knew he wasn’t.


End file.
